Right Now
by Cam2
Summary: Chloe and Lex reflect on the present. Chlex. Rating's a little high . . . but whatev.


Title: Right Now  
  
Author: Cam  
  
Author's Email: Camerada2006@yahoo.com  
  
Pairing: Chloe/Lex  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Chloe thinks about the present. Lex does the same. A bit   
sappy.  
  
A/N: This is my very first posted fic, and I know my writing needs   
lots of improvement, so I'm really looking forward to getting   
feedback. Thanks.  
_______________________  
  
CHLOE  
  
As I roll over to look at you, I am struck by how little space there   
actually is between us. I'm practically on top of you, but when I   
scoot back, your arm tightens around my waist. It's all right   
though, because now I'm in the perfect Lex-gazing position.  
  
You sleep with your mouth open. Lips parted, you are the antithesis   
of everyday, grownup, all-powerful Lex Luthor. Lips parted, you look   
just the way you did last night when you simply closed your eyes and   
breathed my name.  
  
And you shortened it, too. "Chlo," you murmured. You never call   
me "Chlo." It reminds me that, more than lovers, now, we're   
friends.   
  
It didn't start out that way. I respected you, and you respected me,   
and that one night at that one party turned into frantic kisses,   
which led to a search for the nearest bedroom and before I knew it,   
Chloe Sullivan was losing her virginity right before her very eyes.  
  
I didn't plan it that way. I had expected music and flowers and   
romance and – dare I say it? Clark. You weren't him. Hell, you   
weren't even the next best thing. You were something entirely   
different.  
  
Lex, you didn't fumble and you didn't ask. You didn't press, nor did   
you hold back. With every kiss, I could feel you trying to clutch me   
as hard as I was clutching you. And when it was over, you kissed my   
forehead in the gentlest way imaginable, and slipped from the room.  
  
And the next morning, I found you in your office, reading the Planet,   
and sipping coffee. I didn't press, nor did I ask. I sat down and   
you looked up. You offered me a cup of coffee, and suddenly I was   
angry, so angry that you offered, but I accepted it anyway.  
  
You served me yourself – lot's of sugar, a little cream, just the way   
I like it – and sat beside me. You tried to tell me that last night   
had been "a mistake" and that you hoped we were still – but before   
the sentence was out of your mouth, the coffee was on the floor and   
my lips were kissing your scar, and then your cheek, and then your   
chin and then . . .  
  
I knew – scratch that – WE knew that things would never be quite the   
same. After we made love on the sofa (it would be a sin to call   
something so expensive a "couch"), you lay on top of me, completely   
still, holding your breath. You told me I was beautiful and that you   
cared very much, however, we could still go back to being – but I   
swallowed the "F" word before it even passed your lips. See, I have   
a violent opposition to "just being friends," ever since Clark took   
me up on it.  
  
And after that, every Saturday and Sunday morning we would have   
breakfast together, and the initial awkward silences turned into   
comfortable ones and the comfortable silences turned to talking.  
  
So now I know your dreams, Lex Luthor, and you know mine. I know all   
about your fascination with science and empire building. You know   
how badly I want to write for the Planet, and how scared I am of   
having kids of my own.  
  
Your mouth opens a little more as you shift slightly. This reminds   
me of when Clark walked into the Torch office; that night you came   
and said, "I'm here to bring you some coffee." Well, the latte was   
good, but wrapping my legs around you was better, and when you rested   
your head on my shoulder, leaning into me, I wanted to cry. I was   
sitting on my desk, skirt hiked up to there, legs wide, and you were   
whispering to me. Telling me how proud you were. Telling me you   
loved me – for the first time ever. And you told me that sometimes   
you hoped that if you hugged me tight enough, close enough, you could   
sink into me and disappear. I didn't admit it to you, but I feel the   
same way. Sometimes.  
  
But Clark. He came in and it looked SO very compromising. And it   
was, because in just a few moments, you had shared your soul with   
me. Clark's mouth dropped open, and he turned very red. You pulled   
away after squeezing me once, very hard. You started talking to   
Clark. Talking about how things sometimes happen, that no one plans   
them, but he was just staring at me looking horribly betrayed. I   
laughed. He was just so red and so self-righteous; I couldn't help   
it. You heard me, I guess, and gave up trying to explain. You said   
to him: "I love Chloe, Clark. You're going to have to accept that."  
  
And he did. He accepted it, Lex, because it was you. Because you're   
his best friend and he loves you dearly.  
  
I also love you dearly. I know I've never said it, even though you   
have, half-a-dozen times or so. I haven't been ready to say it. I   
honestly don't know why.  
  
Now your eyes flicker open, looking up at me. Your lips curve upward   
in a slow, lazy smile, and your hand slides beneath my hair, pulling   
my face to yours. Just before our lips meet, I say: "I love you,   
Lex."  
  
You just smile and say "Hmmm," and kiss me.  
  
LEX  
  
As your face approaches mine, you whisper, "I love you, Lex." I   
murmur and press my lips to yours, your mouth opens, and my tongue   
slips in, reacquainting itself with the warm space it knows so well.  
  
"I love you, Lex." Chloe, sweet Chlo, you have not a clue how much   
those words mean to me. It's cost me a fortune every time I've said   
them to you, but I wouldn't stop, nay, couldn't stop myself. Now I   
have them back.  
  
I know you didn't plan it to be like this. As you curl up next to   
me, all softness and curves, I wonder if you ever wished it were   
Clark holding you. If so, it's ok, because I know you don't now.  
  
Chloe, the first time we made love, I couldn't hold back. I wanted   
to, knew I should, but I didn't. When you winced slightly in pain, I   
began to regret. When you shuddered in pleasure, I took it back.   
I'd always known you were pretty, but your beauty astounded me that   
night. There was a tenderness in your eyes that startled me.   
Suddenly, sharply, I realized what a sacrifice it must be for a young   
woman to take a man inside her. When it was over, I kissed your   
forehead and left quietly.  
  
I didn't sleep that night. I ended up sitting in my office writing   
reports that could have waited another two weeks. When Gerard   
appeared with the paper and coffee, I was thinking about how to   
proceed with you. I came up with a plan of action. I even went so   
far as to type up a speech.   
  
I was unprepared for your entrance. You had on jeans and an argyle   
sweater that reminded me of one that was hanging in the back of my   
closet. I offered you coffee and tried to take back all that I had   
given you. But when you kissed me, oh, Chloe, when you kissed me, I   
was horrified and delighted all at the same time. I no longer had   
control ever the situation, and when you ran your hands under my   
shirt, I was content to leave it all up to you.  
  
Once again, I tried to give you an out. Tried to warn you away from   
this Luthor. You wouldn't listen. We had breakfast afterward. I   
watched as you read the Ledger. Whe you finished, you asked if we   
could trade. I stared stupidly at you until you coughed and pointed   
at the Planet. I was too embarrassed to blush, and you smiled gently   
at me.  
  
As the days and weeks passed, I grew more and more used to you   
bursting into my office or my room or my bathroom, excited about   
this, pissed off about that.  
  
There was that day when you ran into my office, tackled me, and   
proudly waved your published Letter to the Editor in the Daily   
Planet. While you were squealing, you failed to notice my gestures.   
My father, who was standing behind you, said your name: a question   
and a triumph simultaneously. You froze, eyes wide. Slowly you   
stood, squared your shoulders, and faced him. I followed suit, and   
began to explain. You cut me off, shaking hands with the bastard,   
kissed me swiftly, and said you'd call later. It seemed despite all   
of his eyebrow raising and head shaking, you couldn't be fazed.  
  
My father was wrathful, and upbraided me for the better part of two   
hours. I took it all in stride, knowing that as soon as you called,   
it would disappear. And it did.  
  
I kiss your eyelids and you sigh into my shoulder. I've never spent   
entire nights completely wrapped up with another person. After sex,   
Victoria would roll away from me. Or I from her. But now, if I   
shift, you follow. If you move, I pull you tighter. I love to lay   
my hands on your belly, soft and warm. It makes me wonder: will you   
ever get over your phobia of childbirth to bear my heir?  
  
Then I remember that you're still in high school, and that marriage   
and family are still many, many years away – separated by college and   
career building. But it's all right. We don't have to think about   
that now.  
  
Right now, we don't have to think about anything. Just sleep. And   
when tomorrow comes, breakfast.  
  
End  



End file.
